


One question Sherlock asked John and four questions John never asked Sherlock but got answers to anyway

by pulangaraw



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-25
Updated: 2010-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-14 02:42:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pulangaraw/pseuds/pulangaraw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Schmoop. Title says it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One question Sherlock asked John and four questions John never asked Sherlock but got answers to anyway

_Are you going to leave?_

It was way too early in the morning to be awake, John thought, but sleep was refusing to come back. Their latest adventure at the swimming pool was still too fresh in John’s mind. He decided it was time for another mug of tea.

He reached the kitchen to find the dark silhouette of Sherlock sitting at the table, fingers steepled under his chin and a steaming mug in front of him. “Morning,” John muttered and went to heat up the kettle again.

“Are you going to leave?” Sherlock’s voice was flat.

“What?” John blinked.

“I would have thought you’d be gone by now if you were anyone else. But I cannot be entirely sure. You’re a mysterious man, John, and I wouldn’t blame you if you were planning on leaving, I’d just like to be prepared, you know-”

“Sherlock, stop,” John interrupted. He could see Sherlock’s eyes glittering in the semi-darkness of the kitchen. John took a deep breath. “I’m not going to leave.”

“Oh.”

 

 _Is there anything you wouldn’t put in the fridge?_

The first time John wanted to ask it, was when he saw the head. Well, maybe a couple minutes after he’d seen it, once he had gotten over the shock of a severed head in his fridge. He didn’t ask it then because... well, there were more important things to sort out first.

The second time John would have asked was when he found four dozen eggs in the fridge. Unfortunately Sherlock wasn’t around at the time, so John just sighed, closed the fridge door again and started a mental list of recipes that contained egg.

He got as far as “Is there-” when he found a pair of Homer Simpson slippers - definitely _not_ newly purchased - in the vegetable drawers. Before John could finish his sentence, Sherlock swooped past and ordered a cup of tea to be made for him. Which ticked John off enough that he completely forgot about the slippers.

An overturned bottle of cough syrup tipped into a bowl of cereal didn’t even reach the top end of John’s ‘weird things in the fridge’ list. Considering that Sherlock had been curled up on the sofa (wrapped in John’s blanket) and moaning about how he was going to die of the flu for the last two days, the find even made some sort of strange sense. John wondered briefly if that meant he was going crazy too.

John eventually considered his unasked question answered when he found his neatly wrapped Christmas present on the top shelf of the fridge on Christmas Morning.

 

 _Do you have any family besides Mycroft?_

The truth is, the question hadn’t even occurred to John for the first six months he’d been living with Sherlock. Which just showed how utterly mental their life together was, because what kind of person didn’t even think of asking their flatmate and friend about his family?

Sherlock had never asked John either, but that was probably because he had deduced everything about John’s family two minutes after he moved in. That, or Mycroft had supplied him with the information. Fact was, when John finally thought of the question, it felt wrong to ask.

John was coming home after meeting Harry for their annual Christmas dinner when he heard voices coming from the flat. Sherlock had been alone when John had left and he hadn’t mentioned anything about expecting guests. Not that he necessarily would have, even if he had expected anyone.

John listened for a few moments to find out if Sherlock was dealing with a client - he wouldn’t want to intrude - but the conversation sounded to animated for that. Personal guests, then. And it wasn’t Mycroft or there would be more yelling or violin torture involved. A woman laughed merrily and John made up his mind. He pushed the door open and stepped in.

It became clear immediately that he’d just stepped into an intimate gathering. Sherlock was perched on his usual armchair, but he looked more relaxed than John had seen him in weeks. John’s armchair was occupied by a large, bearded man and a young woman sat on the sofa. An empty bottle of wine an three glasses stood on the coffee table.

The woman was ridiculously pretty in the same way that Sherlock was ridiculously handsome. She was slim and dark curls fell in waves over her shoulders. Her full lips were sill pulled into a smile, her light grey eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Ah, John,” Sherlock said, smiling. “Come on in.”

“I hope I’m not disturbing,” John said a bit awkwardly.

“Nonsense,” Sherlock waved a hand, then jumped up and pulled another chair into their circle and practically pushed John into it. “Sherringford, Irene, this is John.” He pronounced the last as if he was announcing the discovery of world peace.

The woman - Irene - clapped her hands delightedly. “Marvelous! Lovely to meet you, John. I’d been dying of curiosity.”

John must have looked as lost as he felt, because the man who had just been introduced as Sherringford said with a wink, “Sherlock is our brother.”

“Ah,” John said.

 

 _Have you always been this presumptuous?_

“I’d almost forgotten about this one,” Granny Holmes laughed as she turned to the next page in the album. “They wouldn’t let Sherlock sign up for the science competition because he was too young. So he built a working model of an atomic bomb - without the explosives and all that of course -” she waved a hand, “and walked into the awards ceremony with it. They didn’t say no to him signing up the next year. That’s when he won first prize.” She pointed at the picture, smiling proudly.

John looked to see a young Sherlock on a stage holding a trophy. He was sporting an I-told-you-so grin while still managing to look entirely bored with it all. “How old was he?” John asked.

“Oh, he must have been seven or eight.” She moved on to the next page. “Now, I know there’s that picture of him riding his bike butt-naked somewhere in here...”

 

 _Did you ever imagine we’d grow old together?_

John stepped out the back door, pushing it shut again with his foot. He carefully carried the two mugs to where Sherlock was sitting on the swing seat, glad that the slight tremor in his hands wasn’t usually so bad in the afternoons.

“How’s the bees?” John asked as he sat down next to Sherlock and handed him a mug.

“They’re fine, settling down for the winter.”

John nodded. “Yeah, soon it’s going to be too cold to be sitting outside like this. Not that that would stop you,” he added.

Sherlock chuckled.

They sat like that for a while, sipping their tea, time and intimacy making it unnecessary to fill the silence with empty words. At some point Sherlock reached over and took John’s hand into his own. He ran his thumb gently back and forth over John’s knuckles, a familiar rhythm.

“I’m glad you didn’t leave,” Sherlock said eventually.

“Me too,” John answered.

 

THE END.


End file.
